Full Circle
by knoteach
Summary: Twelve years in the future, Chris reminisces on his life.   This will be the become the final story in the series when all of them gets written.   MAJOR spoilers for stories that aren't written yet, but will be.  Read at your own peril


**Disclaimer:** Me no own, me make no money, you no sue!

An older story that I had forgotten to post here. Someone mentioned the series and expressed interest in them. This was intended to be the last in my Precious Gems Mag7 series. Contains spoilers for stories in the series that I never got written, so read at your own peril. *sigh* Someday I may go back to writing the series, but currently my muses have utterly abandoned the fandom.

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><p>Coming Full Circle<p>

Twelve years. Almost thirteen years actually.

_That is a long time,_ Chris thought. _But not long enough_, was the thought directly on its heels. Twelve years directing one of the most highly decorated and successful teams in ATF history. Twelve years as a family. That wouldn't change even if they were splitting up the team, would it? Chris thought for a moment and decided that no, that wouldn't change. But it was still hard to pack up the memories of the last twelve and a half years and move them, even if it was only up one floor.

Two months ago everyone in the federal building had been stunned to get the phone call that announced that Judge Travis had had a minor heart attack and was in the hospital. He came through treatment with flying colors, but had finally decided it was time to retire permanently. Everyone surmised that Mrs. Travis might have had more than a little to do with that decision, but everyone was on their toes wondering who he would recommend for the position. Travis was a favorite among his subordinates, and finding someone with the same blend of understanding, willingness to work with his team leaders, and uncompromising integrity would be nigh on to impossible.

When Travis announced that he wanted Chris Larabee to be the next Assistant Director of the Denver branch office, everyone was in turn stunned into absolute silence and then thrilled. It had taken quite some convincing, on the part of Travis and several other individuals, to get Chris to agree to the position, but he had finally done it.

Which led him here, cleaning out his desk and office for a move up one floor. Chris had asked to be left alone for this, knowing that sifting through memories was best done in private. He had made a lot of memories in the last twelve years and they all came with photographs and mementos.

Team vacations, where everything that could go wrong did, but they all had a blast anyway. Looking at particular one picture which showed four mud covered men and three equally messy boys, Chris could just about hear Ezra's voice, complaining about the indignity of being pulled into the mud hole. You could tell by the twinkle in his eye, though, that his heart wasn't really in the complaining, and he was actually enjoying every minute of it. It had taken Chris some time to realize that sometimes Ezra complained just because he thought it was expected of him. Wrapping it, Chris moved to other photos on the desk, including several of the boy's school pictures and a picture of him and Buck.

Done with his desk, he turned to the walls where there were more pictures and various pieces of Old West paraphernalia he had collected over the years. The most precious piece to him, though, was a painting of himself addressed as an old west gunslinger, all in black as had been his habit for a long time. Not so much any more, but he was still known around the Federal Building and on the street as "the Man in Black." Ezra had painted this for him when he was twelve, yet the painting did not look like the work of a child. Many people had complimented it; some even asked him who had painted it for him, wanting to see about having one painted for themselves. When he replied that the artist was his son, to a person they were dumbfounded and stunned. Ezra had only ever consented to do four other portraits: one for each of the other members of the team, one of Judge Travis and his wife for his retirement. Chris greatly suspected Ezra was working on one for Vin's graduation.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Chris gently took the painting down and wrapped it securely and placed it in the box. Looking around Chris reflected on all the memories this office held, while double checking that nothing had been left behind. It wouldn't be all that far to come if he had, but he didn't like the idea of prolonging leaving. Satisfied, he moved to the outer office to gather the few things there that were private property. First he slipped into the break room to grab the coffee mugs he kept there. He paused as he picked up the second one.

This wasn't the first one like this he had owned. The first Adam had given him, and after his death, Chris had destroyed it one night when he was drunk and fighting the pain. This one Ezra, Vin, and JD had given him for his birthday the year after the adoption when through. Chris didn't know how they had found the exact mug, though he suspected Buck might have steered them to it, but it had helped heal that little bit more the wound that had never quite closed since their deaths.

Even now he felt the pain of their loss, but it was no longer the crimpling anguish it had once been. Those three boys and the men he worked with had given him first a reason to live, and then a reason to love. Now he could remember the good times with out the gut wrenching torment of their loss.

Picking up the mug quickly, he moved back to the boxes in the outer office, wrapped them and carefully packed them in.

On the walls by the individual offices were places listing individual and team awards and commendations. Each large plaque held places for 50 small plates to be attached. Most offices had individual plaques displayed, but several years ago they had been running out of room, when JD had remarked within Judge Travis's hearing that it would be more space efficient to issue each of them a large plaque and just add little plates with each new award. Travis had thought about it and that was exactly what they had done, with slight modification. They still received the individual plaques and certificates, but instead of displaying them in the office like they usually would, they were allowed to take them home and just leave the "collage plaques," as Ezra called them, in the office. Several of the top teams had them now, but not so many as Team Seven, which boast at least two full ones for each team member.

With his promotion, all of the team was being reassigned as per procedure with teams that lost a team leader in any way after being together for more than five years. After that long as a single unit, the ATF had found that it was nearly impossible to find a team leader that the remaining members would accept.

Buck and Josiah had decided to retire. Buck, much to Chris's concern, had started to develop arthritis a couple of years ago, and the doctor had warned him that continued injuries would speed the advancement of the disease. With Chris's promotion, Buck had the perfect reason to leave the agency with no questions asked. When Chris had worried that Buck would be bored, Buck had suggested that he could start working with the horses again. Chris had loved that idea, for it would give Buck something to do, and Chris could help out whenever he could and let off a little steam after haggling with politicians all day if needed.

Josiah was going to teach in the Boulder training facility for a few years before retiring completely. Josiah had finally been recognized for his outstanding profiling skills, and the ATF was eager to keep him on in what ever capacity they could. Josiah had decided that he could utilize his knowledge best by passing what he had learned on to the next generation of agents.

Nathan was going to stay active, not in the field, but rather in the lab. Since the team began, Nathan had helped out occasionally in forensics, keeping his hand in and staying up-to-date on new techniques and discoveries. With all the shifting around that was happening, he said that he didn't think he could work with another team and not be constantly comparing it to theirs, so he decided to go into the laboratory side of things.

Chris knew they would have to move on sooner or later, and this was one of the best ways to do it. Chris had always dreaded that one of these days one of them wasn't going to make it through the bust, that some day he would fail to protect one of his men well enough and they would pay the price for it. They had come too close too many times already.

Just last year, they had nearly lost Josiah when their back-up had been late to the meet, and it had gone sour before they arrived. Josiah had caught one in the left chest when he turned to finalize the deal. Their target had thought to kill off his buyer, take his money, and sell his guns again. Nathan had been able to get to Josiah quickly enough to control the bleeding, but even so, it had been touch and go there for a couple of days.

Turning away from his contemplation of what could have happened, a diamond of special frames on the far wall caught Chris's eye. Each frame contained a specially mounted photograph and certificate. Going over he lifted the left most one down and looked at it, going back to that day in his mind and smiling hugely.

The picture at the top of this frame was of him standing with his arm around the shoulders of a tall lanky blonde haired, blue eyed boy of about fifteen years. Vin was smiling so hard in the photograph that one wondered if his face might crack. Below it was an official adoption certificate declaring Vincent Michael Tanner-Larabee to be the legal son of Christopher Mitchell Larabee. Chris remembered that day perfectly, and the long years before it battling the system that wanted to write Vin off. But eventually he and Vin had proved they were wrong.

Vin had enlisted in the Army as soon as he graduated from high school. Chris could understand Vin's desire to serve in the military; he had been in the Navy for years himself. It came as no surprise to Chris when Vin was asked to consider the Rangers as soon as he was out of boot camp. Vin aced his training and entered the Rangers as a sniper. With no ongoing conflict at the moment, Vin had looked into continuing his education, and was now, at 24, two semesters from graduating with honors from Georgetown University with a degree in Military History and Tactics.

Wrapping it carefully, Chris reached for the next one, the one on the right point.

This one showed Chris holding an ecstatic dark-haired, dark eyed boy of about eight years in his arms. The boy's arms and legs wrapped around Chris neck and waist, looking back over his shoulder at the camera, smiling like he had just won the lottery. In some ways, Chris reflected, they all had. The certificate under this one declared that Jonathan Daniel Dunne-Larabee was now the legal son of Christopher Mitchell Larabee. JD, as he still preferred to be called, was seventeen now, and had just as much energy as he always had.

Chris had had quite a fight on his hands when one of the schools administrators had wanted to put JD on medication, saying that he was "afflicted" with ADHD. When he had been called in for that meeting, he had taken Vin and Ezra with him since he had no one to watch them on such short notice. It was also the first time he had ever heard profanity come out of Ezra's mouth, Ezra had been so angry. Before Chris had been able to reply and blast the pompous administrator who was oh-so-calmly sitting there telling him that he should put his son on medication, Ezra had burst out with, "Bullshit!" Ezra had looked so horrified and frightened, Chris had wanted to cry for him. Instead he nodded stiffly and agreed with him and, after telling that arrogant buffoon what he could do with his pills, he had pulled the boys from the school and enrolled them in a small, but well thought of, private school nearby.

Once they were out of the office, Ezra had broken down crying. Vin, who had been silent throughout the exchange in the office, tried to get Ezra to talk to him, but when that didn't work, Chris stepped in. Eventually Chris had picked Ezra up and carried him out to the truck to get them out of there. That night, Ezra confessed that one of the reasons Maude had gotten rid of him was because he "had spoken out of turn" and ruined one of her cons. That had been the first time since getting out of the hospital he had talked to Chris about his mother and what she had done to him. He had been afraid that they would be taken away from Chris because he couldn't control his mouth. Chris had taken the next couple of hours to comfort and reassure the terrified eight year-old that nothing like that was going to happen.

JD was about to graduate from high school with a scholarship to MIT. He had already redesigned the computer system in the federal building to be practically hack proof, and anything that his scholarships didn't cover would have been covered by the federal government, with the understanding that he would come back to work for them when he finished his schooling. There had even talk of them covering his masters and doctorate programs if he wanted to, but Ezra had stepped in and given JD the money, saying that he didn't want JD getting pushed into government work if he didn't want to. JD had tried to promise he would pay Ezra back some day, but Ezra wouldn't hear of it.

It always amazed Chris how many words Ezra could throw at a person, but when you went back and thought about it, he hadn't really told them anything at all. Other times, with Vin and JD originally and later the members of Team Seven, Ezra could have a whole conversation with just his eyes and his expression. Chris had watched as JD tried to argue that he should pay Ezra back after he got out of school. Ezra hadn't said a word; he just looked at JD. When JD wound down and finally asked why Ezra didn't want the money back, the only thing Ezra had said was, "Brothers." That had been the end of the argument.

Even after all this time, that one word still had the power to take Chris's breath away. Twelve years ago, Vin and JD had stood in front of four strangers and declared that the three of them were brothers. Even now, more than ten years later, that closeness had not abated one wit. They had their squabbles, like any siblings, but whenever any of them invoked that bond, the others were right along side them fighting for them all the way. It was a sacred trust they shared; outsiders could hardly grasp the concept. Chris, even after all this time, wasn't sure he understood how deep that connection was for the three of them. It had been very difficult for each of them as first Vin, then Ezra, graduated from high school and left to continue their lives, but every time they came home, they were as close as they had ever been. There was no awkwardness or surprises. Yet even as close as they were to each other, Chris believed that they were almost that close to him, Buck, Nathan, and Josiah. The bond of family that had grown among them was insoluble.

Shaking his head, Chris pushed it from his mind and turned back to his packing. Turning back to the wall he was clearing, tears came to his eyes as he reached for the frame at the lowest point of the diamond. Like the others, the upper portion was a photograph of Chris and a boy, in this case a smiling auburn haired boy of eleven years with sparkling emerald green eyes. This boy wasn't smiling as widely, or as obviously ecstatic as the others had been, but if you looked at his eyes the joy was there, just kept under tight rein. This certificate was a little different from the others; it said that Christopher Mitchell Larabee was legal father of Ezra Payton Larabee.

Chris could still remember the night about a week before the court date, when Ezra had come down to the living room to talk to him after the others were in bed. As had become custom since that first night when Vin had wanted to talk to him, they sat on the couch side by side, Chris waiting for Ezra to speak. Ezra had handed him the papers he had asked them to look over at dinner, and for a moment Chris's heart had sunk, thinking that Ezra had changed his mind and didn't want to be his son after all. Instead Ezra had shocked him by asking if he could change the name to read Ezra Payton Larabee. When Chris had asked why, Ezra had slowly admitted that he had no idea what his father's last name was, but he did know that his first name had been Payton. Ezra had been positive that he didn't want the Standish name, because that had been one that Maude had stuck him with. Ezra said he had already explained it to JD and Vin, and they had all agreed. Chris had made no answer except to draw Ezra into his arms and hug him tightly. He had pretended not to notice the wet place that had developed on the front of his shirt as he sent Ezra up to bed a few minutes later.

Ezra was nearly twenty now, and due to graduate from Harvard in May with a degree in Interpersonal Relations. Ezra's choice of majors had always puzzled Chris, but he felt that it was Ezra's life. Ezra had excelled all through school, but his greatest joy had always been his painting, and while he refused to do portraits for anyone but his closest friends and family, he had sold many of his other paintings under a pseudonym. Between what he made from those and what he inherited from Maude, Ezra was quite wealthy, so he could do just about anything he wanted. Ezra had never actually told Chris what he planned to do in the future, but Chris recalled the day he had asked Ezra about his painting.

Chris had been watching Ezra, then sixteen, as he worked on the finishing touches to the piece he was currently working on.

"What do you think, Da?" Ezra said as he stepped back and surveyed his finished piece.

"Looks good, son," Chris said as he stepped closer. Ezra nodded satisfied as he started clearing up the brushes and paints he had been using. Chris watched as the young man quickly and efficiently washed his brushes and put away all of his supplies in their designated places in the small studio they had built for him.

"I saw the piece you made for the United Way auction, Ezra," Chris remarked. Ezra only paused momentarily as he worked, and Chris continued, "A lot of people are talking about you becoming a professional artist." Chris was surprised when Ezra's response was to burst out laughing. When Ezra continued to laugh, Chris said dryly, "I'll admit I don't really see you as hermit painter stuck in a garret somewhere, but I don't see what's so entertaining."

Ezra managed to control his mirth and reply, "Da, I love to paint, but the very idea that this is all I'd do for the rest of my life is ludicrous. You've given me so much; I don't want to waste it. I'm going to Harvard in the fall so that I can get an education and make a difference. Just like you have for Vin, JD, and me."

Chris had been dumbfounded, and when Ezra had changed the subject, he, not being one for overt and prolonged displays of emotion himself, had let it go.

Breathing deeply, Chris wrapped this one also and packed it away in the box. The last frame was a picture of all seven of them. The official looking certificate below it stated in legalese that all of the above were now part of the Team Seven family, and would be forever. Ezra and JD had designed the certificate about six months after the adoption was final, and while it was obviously not legal, it summed up their feelings about each other perfectly. Their family was a family of the heart, not blood, but they couldn't have been any closer.

Chris was pulled from his musing by a knock at the outer office door. "Come in," Chris said as he wrapped the last picture.

The door opened to reveal the form of his middle son, Ezra. Ezra had grown up to be a handsome young man, his hair had darkened only a few shades, now a deep chestnut, combined with a well muscled body and his sparkling green eyes, he could have his pick of any girl around.

"Da, are you done?" Ezra asked softly.

Chris smiled slightly at the name Ezra had bestowed on him their first Christmas. "Yeah, I'm done, Ez. Just these couple of boxes." Chris waved to the other box as he went to grab one.

Ezra nodded and came over to pick up the other, then followed his father out of the offices that had been his home away from home for the last twelve years.

Several hours later, after they had finished setting Chris up in his new office, Ezra and he sat in the living room at the ranch. Buck and JD had already headed to bed, and Chris was considering his pillow as well. It had been a tiring day, both physically and mentally. It had taken more effort to drag nearly thirteen years of memories around than the few boxes of belongings that had been moved. Years of laughter and tears, celebration and struggle, years Chris wouldn't trade for anything.

Musing silently on the path his life had taken, Chris was surprised when Ezra cleared his throat.

"Da? There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, and I thought it might be a good time," Ezra looked nervous, like Chris hadn't seen him since his first date.

"Sure, Ez." In keeping with tradition, Chris moved over to sit beside his son. No matter what their ages, Vin, Ezra, and JD would always be his sons.

Ezra didn't look at his father as he began to speak. "Back when you first took us, I had a lot of habits, things she taught me, that you told me I didn't have to do any more." Chris remembered well those first few weeks when Ezra would have just about jumped off the roof if you told him to and it meant the difference between being allowed to stay and having to leave the ranch. It had taken quite a while to get Ezra to act and speak like a normal boy.

"In recent months, I've been approached with job offers from several companies and organizations. I've been contemplating entering a field where those skills she taught me might do some good," Ezra paused, but Chris could tell that he wasn't finished and waited for the end.

"I've resolved to pursue a career in law enforcement." Ezra announced stiffly.

Chris was stunned. Of his three sons, Ezra would have been the last he would have picked as going into police work, practicing law maybe, but not in a thousand years this. "Are you sure this is what you want, Ezra?" Chris asked quietly.

Turning to look at his father, Ezra said firmly, "I'm sure, Da. I told you a long time ago that I wanted to make a difference, like you had for me, and I think this is the best way to do it."

"Then go for it," Chris said, pulling his son in for a hug. They embraced for a few moments then released. "So, have you accepted any offer in particular, or are you still considering them?"

"Yes, I've picked one. I was debating, but after some of the problems you've had with the FBI, I decided against them." Ezra stood as he spoke and started moving toward the stairs. Turning at the first step, he said, "I'll be entering the ATF training facility at Boulder in June," before disappearing upstairs.

Chris sat silently for a moment processing what he had just heard. If Ezra entered the Boulder facility in June, he would graduate in December. That meant that by this time next year, Ezra would be assigned to a team and in the field!

Dear God, he might be supervising his own son's team. His own son, who he had raised to be as much of a maverick as he was himself!

Chuckling, Chris went up to bed himself. Things had come full circle, and they sure wouldn't be dull!


End file.
